Stardust in the Wind
by Nathan Fraust
Summary: [SPOILERS FOR INFINITY WAR]/"I don't wanna go."/"But I blink/And the world was gone." - And The World Was Gone, Snow Ghosts/They weren't supposed to die.
1. I: Saturnine

Saturnine

He wanted to scream, to clench his fist high, raised against a god he didn't, _couldn't_ believe in.

What kind of supreme being would let _this_ happen?

But no. He had a job to do.

A family to protect.

A son to avenge.

AES

The air was growing thinner by the second, and colder by the milli, but he held on, in a deathgrip with the Mad Titan as they rose in time with the beeping of the "failsafe" the intergalactic despot had woven into his robes.

" _Stark!_ I've got the Gauntlet! Let _go_!"

"Not a chance, Licorice. Gotta get this lavender sissy into the outer thermosphere before we've got a baby binary solar system."

"Stark! Stark, no! _Ton-_ "

With a flick of his thoughts, he cut off all communications with Rogers.

The air was so soft. Like a blanket.

"Stark, you _fool_. The Balance _must_ be kept."

"Not the way I see it, Old Scratchy McScratcherface. Y'see, you big-shot warmongers never bother reading the essentials. Here's one for ya."

The nanobots restraining the Last Son of Titan enveloped his head, leaving just enough for the repulsors, boots, and helmet.

He could feel his joints locking up, but he continued anyway.

"'But if there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise.' Know what that means, Mr. Grape?"

The cold was starting to burn.

"It means _you_ , my little lilac friend, are fu-"

TS

 _May,_

 _By the time you get this message, Peter will hopefully be back. If not, then- I'm sorry._

 _Your nephew- Jesus, your nephew. He was the bravest of us, the smartest. The hope that we all had that what we've worked towards all these years was the right thing to do._

 _And I failed him._

 _He was talking about that Nolan film, the last time I saw him, before-_

 _Uh, anyways. He was talking about that space film by Nolan, "Interstellar", I think it was. Said that his class was going to some big-shot space-research lab, OsFlight or Horizon Labs or something like that. Kid was so excited, he could barely catch his breath._

 _I should've done_ something _. Recorded it, videoed him. Fuck._

 _I could've saved him. He was_ my _responsibility, and I wasn't powerful enough._

 _Rogers says we're coming up on Hala now. Guess that means our little chat is over._

 _Look, if I don't- if not, tell Pep- tell her to go with Morgan._

IM

* * *

 **Author's Note: Fuck.**

 **Russos, you sure know how to stick it where it hurts.**

 **Anyways: first part of a three-/four-part thing; this was based off of "Saturn" by Sleeping at Last.**

 **-Nate**


	2. II: Still Life

Still Life

The sudden knocking broke her out of her pacing.

She opened the door and, seeing the flash of red in dark chocolate curls, beckoned Michelle inside.

"Where's Ned?"

"Back with his parents. I need to call him, but-"

Michelle shrugged helplessly.

"He just _had_ to go, didn't he," she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Yeah," Michelle whispered, her arms fidgeting at her side and voice wavering.

She felt like smacking herself upside the head. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just- God, he reminds me so _much_ of Ben sometimes."

"You guys don't talk about him a lot." Michelle's voice was tinged with curious hopefulness.

"Mmhmm." She bit her lip. "When the robbery happened, it- it hit pretty hard, but Peter got it worse. I had to sign him up for therapy for months after, but he kept missing. Never could get _why_ around my head until I found out about his- _abilities_."

She was sitting on the couch all of a sudden, Michelle's hand on her back, and she felt wetness on her cheeks.

"Ben had to take on another job delivering pizzas after the attack on the Towers, when we took Peter in. He always stunk of raw meat and tomatoes when he got back late. But by God, I loved it. And I loved _him_ even more."

Michelle's hand slipped into hers, and she gave the teen a watery smile.

"You want something to eat? I make some mean grilled chicken marinade."

Michelle's lips lifted. "I'll get the plates. And maybe… some wine?"

"Amen to that, little missy. Feel free to get yourself a glass."

She opened up the fridge, taking out the package of boneless, skinless chicken breast she'd put out that morning to thaw, and, retrieving a medium-sized knife and a cutting board, slit the plastic wrap open and dumped out the meat. She bent down, opening up a cupboard, and took out a large wok, setting it on the stove

She cubed the chicken into manageable chunks, and was just about to start pouring olive oil into the wok, when-

"May?"

The voice was so soft, she could hardly hear it over the tinkling shatter of the plates and bottle.

Her head whipped around to see Michelle collapse on the floor, her legs- oh, _Jesus_ , her _legs_ -

She set down the olive oil, nearly tripping over the table in her rush to get to her nephew's girl.

"Michelle? Michelle, talk to me! What's happening?"

"I- I don't know." She sounded so scared. "I- I- I can't feel my legs, Aunt May. I- I can't feel _anything_."

"It's alright, I know, baby girl, I know."

 _How could you!_ she screamed at herself. _She's_ dying _in_ your _arms when she just_ lost _hers._

"I'm scared, Aunt May. Where's- where's Peter? Is he al-"

The dust fell onto her jeans, her arms, the carpet, forming a pattern like some obscene crop circle.

And inside, she felt something in her- or rather, some _one_ \- drift away and die.

And she _knew_ \- she knew that her son was gone forever.

She rose up, slowly, unbuttoning her jeans and blouse and slipping them off with the gentlest of care, and stepped carefully over the ashen remains of what was once Michelle Jones, trembling overtaking her.

But, no, it wasn't fear, or even just grief, that caused her to shake. No.

Letting out a howl of anguish and rage, she picked up the discarded bottle of olive oil and hurled it at the door, her breathing heavy as the glass shattered against the picture frame hung against the wall. She stared as the frame broke apart, and the photo of her, Ben and Peter at the very first science fair he'd ever won fluttered to the floor.

Everything seemed to freeze in that moment, as her gaze locked on the ruined photo and the world spun out of control just outside her window.

"Stark. What have you _done_?"

* * *

 **Author's Note: So, second chapter of our small trilogy, this time starring Aunt May, based off of "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap.**

 **I've decided that I'm going to expand this to cover most everyone who survived the Snap, so this first little bit is going to be focused on Spider-Man, obviously, and then the next is probably going to be Thor, or Cap.  
**

 **Also: that little bit about Ben delivering pizzas? Yeah, that would be my own little homage/hint to Mr. Tobey Maguire as Tom's "Uncle". I mean, it makes sense, to me, at least.**

 **-Nate**


	3. III: A Flickering Flame

A Flickering Flame

When he'd learned about Purgatory in Sunday school, he'd imagined it would be a bit… _brighter_.

He could feel the water and sand beneath his feet, the faint chill in the air from the perpetual eclipse hanging in the air like some omen of doom.

"D'oh, Parker. Crumbled away on some other planet, remember?"

He continued to ramble, to postulate as to _how_ and _why_ and _where_ , anything to keep from breaking down again.

God, that was embarrassing.

"I mean, _really_ , dude? Just 'cause your legs don't work no more doesn't mean that you have to slobber all over Mr. Stark."

"Would've paid to see that."

His heart clenched in his chest, and he turned around to see her standing there, hands stuffed in her jeans' pockets, arms crossed over her plain black tanktop, and the beginnings of that soft smirk that he so desperately wanted to kiss off her face every time she made it.

He took a step forward- and promptly fell flat on his face.

He pushed himself upright, only to be met by firm hands helping him back to his feet.

He gave her a small smile. "Isn't that supposed to be _my_ job?"

She only wrapped her arms around his chest and rested her head on his torso. "New suit?"

He looked down, seeing the streaks of gold running up his chest and elbows as he held her. "Huh, guess so."

She lifted her eyes and fixed him with a flat stare. "You _guess_?"

"Hey, I didn't know I'd be stuck in Purgatory, so yeah, I think I've earned some free guesses."

"You're being an idiot, loser," she snarked. "No such thing as an intermediate state between life and… whatever's next."

He let go of her for a moment, eyes wide as the terrible truth struck him.

"I'm so, _so_ -" he started, cupping her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, a smile on her lips as her eyes spoke, _I know, and I_ forgive you _._

"You really should listen to your paramour, Mr. Parker."

He clutched her to his chest, his fingers on the trigger of his webshooters as he shouted at the red-cloaked woman who suddenly appeared, "Look, lady, I don't know you from Wes Bentley, so how about you beam yourself back to whatever weird pervhole you live in, and leave us alone?"

The woman merely shook her head and chuckled. "You really don't recognize me, do you?" She shrugged. "Typical of you."

""Hey, shithead. We've got no _idea_ who the hell you are, so kindly _fuck_. _Off_."

The woman gave a low sigh, then drew back her hood and revealed her face.

He took a step back, dragging her with him, as he stammered, "No, that's not- that's _not_ -"

The woman grinned, all teeth and no warmth, as she purred, "Oh, yes, it _is_ , _Daddy_. Why don't you ask Mom all about it?"

He turned his gaze to her, full of bewilderment and hurt. "MJ…"

Her eyes swirled with pain, panic, and fear. "I was going to tell you, but…"

She backed away from him, arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the ground. "I just- I-"

She put a hand to her mouth, turned away.

His hand reached out, almost involuntarily, then paused and dropped back down as a low rumbling sound filled the air.

He looked over at the- _thing_ that claimed to be his daughter, and was hardly surprised when "she" twisted and changed into some horrid crimson-skinned monster.

"Who are you?" he demanded with steel in his voice. "What do you _want_?"

The monster bowed. " _ **Mephisto, of Faustian legend, yes. As I said, Mr. Parker, you**_ **really** _ **didn't recognize me? As I recall, my story was one of your favorites when you were younger. As for what I**_ **want** _ **-**_ "

It spread its' hands.

" _ **The usual: a soul.**_ "

"Bit difficult, seeing as how we're out of your reach, yeah?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

" _ **Ah, yes, those pesky Stones. Keeping you on the side of life, though you should be wiped from this reality.**_ " It shrugged yet again. " _ **Lucky you, then. I never wanted**_ **your** _ **soul, or hers.**_ " It motioned with a taloned hand to MJ, who was watching the whole exchange. " _ **Your**_ **child's** _ **, though. So**_ **pure** _ **, so**_ **innocent.** " Another grin. " _ **Oh, she will do**_ **nicely** _ **for what I have planned.**_ "

"No! Stay away from her." Some small part of him was going crazy, criticizing his reaction, but most everything inside him wanted to tear this "Mephisto" apart.

" _ **Now, now, no need to fret, Mr. Parker. You have a role in all this**_ **too** _ **, you know! Just not**_ **her** _ **.**_ "

He turned, to see her gazing up in defiance at the red-skinned demon, and some small part of him soared with the knowledge that "his girl" was still as strong-willed as ever. "You say that, Nicky, but we both know you can't hold an ounce of truth to save your sorry hide."

" _ **And what reason would**_ **I** _ **have to**_ **lie** _ **, Ms. Jones? Wasn't it**_ **you** _ **who wanted Peter to do**_ **more** _ **than just be a "Friendly Neighborhood Spider"? To use his knowledge and technology to save the**_ **world** _ **, not just some small burough of New York? Then why now, pray tell, do you wish to hold him back?**_ "

"Because he's- he's-"

" _ **What? He's what? The one who keeps**_ **everyone safe** _ **?**_ " It scoffed. " _ **Were**_ **that** _ **true, Ben Parker would still walk this earth.**_ "

"Alright, enough!" he shouted, fists clenched tight."You stole our daughter's _life_ , and for _what_? The ability to gloat over another duped mortal?"

" _ **Perish the thought, Mr. Parker. I did such a thing to start you on the path.**_ "

"The path towards what, asswipe?"

" _ **Why, being the best version of yourself there can be.**_ "

He shook his head. "No. Not without her."

It sighed. " _ **Well, unfortunately for you, you have no choice.**_ "

* * *

He watches her from afar, back seemingly stuck to the cheap prom wallpaper like ivy on a tree, as she sways to the music in her slimming, form-fitting little black number.

Her eyes flick up, too fast for him to look away, and suddenly, there they are. Held in some alternate dimension where he didn't fail her, where he was always on time.

Where their daughter was still alive.

But the moment's broken all too soon, as Principal Morita drones out his name like a knock-off Vince McMahon and Gwen- dear, sweet Gwen- hooks her arm in his as she leads them both on-stage.

He accepts the mic from Morita, cradling it in his hands like it was a fraying lifeline. He scans the crowd for her face, catches a flash of red in a sea of brown and a glistening eye before she slips out the back.

He starts, hesitant and wavering: "A year ago, we all lost someone. Friends, family, even our own bodies, vanished before our very eyes. I myself lost a mentor, a father, and a dear friend."

Gaze sweeping the gathered throng of high schoolers, he lingers on Betty, whose weeping form is being held up by Flash.

"After the War, we rebuilt, remade ourselves into new people, into _better_ people." His gaze carries on, alighting on Cindy. "We found the strength within ourselves, and amongst each other, to create a better Midtown, and a better New York."

Abraham this time. "We all rose to the opposition and the opportunities that faced us, and we beat them head-on. And I've got to say-"

He shoots a glance at Mr. Harrington, who's grinning ear to ear. "Mr. Harrington's feeling real smug about his quick-change bunker right about now."

He dips his head at the round of laughter that ripples through the room, hand slipping into his tux to retrieve the two silver envelopes.

"Alright, enough chit-chat. Time I get on with it. As sponsored by Stark-Parker Industries, Midtown's 2018 prom queen is-"

He breaks open the seal, withdraws the slip.

His heart flops in his chest.

"Michelle Jones," he chokes out.

Suddenly, he can't breathe, he can't _breathe_ , he _can't_ -

He stumbles off stage left, dropping the unopened envelope as he goes.

 _Not enough oxygen to the brain. Hyperventilating. In, out. In, out. In-_

Someone's pressed up against his back, all soft edges and perfume. "You'll be fine. You'll be fine."

He turns on his heel to find her there again, right in front of him. His mind barely registers Gwen's stalled call-out of his name, the awkward start-stop-start of the music.

"Hey," he breathes.

"Hey, yourself," she responds softly.

"So-" he starts, same as she.

They pause, let out a small chuckle and a breath.

"You wanna get outta here?" he asks.

"Only if it involves the wind in my hair," she replies with a grin.

Half an hour later, they're shuffling in each other's arms and laughing on top of the Flatiron Building, the lyrics to Snow Patrol's "New York" crooning out of the suit's speakers.

"I missed you," he whispers in her ear.

"Same here. But face it, tiger, with me-"

And at this, she pulls his face to hers and kisses his lips ever so lightly.

"You hit the jackpot."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Gaaah, fluffiness. I wanted it to be angst and tragedy all the way through so bloody _bad_ , but I just couldn't help myself. And yes, I know Peter didn't survive the Snap, but hey, it made sense to me when I was thinking it through initially.**

 **Anyways: songs are: "Signal Fire" by Snow Patrol, and "Devils and Dust" by Bruce Springsteen.**

 **Also: I have it in my headcanon that Tony dies for good in Avengers 4 and Peter takes over Stark Industries/ and remakes it into Parker Industries.**

 **Anywhoo: posting this at a half-hour to 0500 this morning. G'night, and decide who you want to see next time in your review: Cap, or Thor.**

 **-Nate**


	4. IV: Beloved

**Beloved**

The procession wasn't large; about 30 mourners showed in the near-freezing weather, around half of which were solemn, sometimes-crotchety old vets clutching onto scraps of weathered paper. Husbands clutched to their wives, and the mothers in the crowd held onto their children, be they teenagers, elementary, toddlers, or even fully-grown adults.

Looking out over the group, Steve felt his heart swell inside him, even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he waited until they all had settled into their seats, then began.

"The first time I met Stanley Lieber, he chided me for not getting a girl's number." A small smile flitted across his face as the others chuckled, some of the veterans giving a hearty laugh, as if to celebrate an old inside joke.

"I didn't take his advice to heart until about five years ago, but that- that's another story altogether. As I moved around, grew more accustomed to… this," he said, waving his hand in the air, as if to gesture to the whole world, "I ran into him again at the Smithsonian. I don't know how, but he'd gotten a job as a security guard. We got to chatting, and I found that he'd served with the Third when he was just 20. 'Used to be, the 'Old Guard' was one of the great 'honors' the service could give a guy,' he'd grumble as we played Scrabble at Meridian Hill. 'Nowadays, young folks're more into being some kind of Stark twit than a real Joe like you, Steve; heads are too in the clouds to notice the gunk at their feet.' "

The vets gave a small roar of agreement, overriding the light-hearted grumbles from the younger attendees.

"I never got to meet Missus Joan, but by God, did that man love her. Seventy years they were together, and they never stopped loving each other, nor their two beautiful daughters. She inspired him to write his 'Great American Novel', and he couldn't help but praise her for it. He said that they changed each other's lives, saved each other."

Steve glanced down at the casket, at his face reflected in the polished black oak, then lifed his eyes to the sky.

"Stan, buddy, if you can hear me up there, give Missus Joan a peck on the cheek from me. Keep telling your stories to the Big Man, and whoever else may listen."

Clearing his throat, Steve took a step back, then, reaching out a hand, beckoned his little Ellie forward. The auburn-haired bundle shuffled forward, eyes wide as she looked at the crowd, and hugged her daddy's leg. Giving her a small smile, Steve rested his hand on her cheek, and flipping the tear-stained sheet of paper over, read:

 _At break of day, as heavenward_

 _The pious monks of Saint Bernard_

 _Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,_

 _A voice cried through the startled air,_

 _Excelsior!_

 _A traveller, by the faithful hound,_

 _Half-buried in the snow was found,_

 _Still grasping in his hand of ice_

 _That banner with the strange device,_

 _Excelsior!_

 _There in the twilight cold and gray,_

 _Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,_

 _And from the sky, serene and far,_

 _A voice fell like a falling star,_

 _Excelsior!_

* * *

 **Author's Note: Initially, this chapter was going to be inspired by _This is America_ , with Cap walking through Harlem and Hell's Kitchen, and seeing how things have gotten worse (and, in some ways, better) since he's last been around NY two years back. But then Stan died a week ago today (11/19/18), and I knew I had to do something to commemorate him.**

 **This is for you, Stan. If you're up there, be sure to tell God some good ones.**

 **-Yosef**


	5. V: Mercurial I

Mercurial I

Shivering violently, she tucked her hands into her armpits, cursing the fickle nor'easter that had swept through the city on Monday.

 _At least there isn't a risk of gangbangers with everything being_ this fucking cold _. Count your blessings, huh, Jones?_

She trudged forward, crunching through the swept snow and road salt. The zipper end of her hooded coat soon became moist with spit and sweat, which was _not_ something she looked forward to scrubbing out when she reached... home.

Fists clenched, but still contained, she walked faster, faintly aware of the buzzing in her breast pocket.

"Probably going to be, ' _Where_ are _you, young lady? You heard the snow warning the same as all of us, right? So_ why _are you_ la-' AAGH!"

She threw her hands out in front of her, hissing in pain as the soft flesh scraped against the salted pavement. Her left hip banged against the frozen concrete, along with her side, and she screamed as she felt a small _pop_ , followed by an intense wave of pain.

" _No_ ," she whimpered. "I can't- can't be _late_." Blinking against the tears, she tried to push herself to her feet, but the nearly-blackening, encompassing pain cut that idea short. She coughed, then, as loud as she could, cried out, " _HELP! SOMEBODY!_ "

"Anyone else need some big snow piles plowed, Karen?" Peter asked, micro-shivers running through his body. "Also, make a note: _talk to Tony about suit insulation-slash-heating elements_."

"Sure thing, Peter," Karen affirmed. "There hasn't been any requests for assistance on Fa-"

"Karen? Uh, Karen? You okay?"

"Sensors have picked up a series of calls of distress on 188th, near to Hollis Veterans Square." The AI's voice took on an urgent tone as she continued, "The most recent call was significantly weaker than the last. _Hurry_ , Peter."

Behind the mask, Peter's eyes widened as the voice in question was patched through. " _MJ_ ," he breathed in horror. Slinging out a zip-line to the edge of York College's rooftop, he sprinted across the gravel, then launched off, flipping over the road and landing on the Arts Center roof. He pushed himself, harder, harder. _Harder_.

"Hold on, Michelle."

 _Warmth._

She couldn't open her eyelids, but she wriggled all the same.

" _Michelle. Michelle, you've gotta_ stop."

Cold blasted at her, the shrieking wind piercing her cotton-stuffed ears. Wrapping her arms around the source of the blessed warmth, she managed to chatter out, "W-w-where-"

" _I'm taking you to m-_ " His voice suddenly deepened further. " _I'm taking you to a friend's._ "

"No," she whined, the shiver coming from within, not without. "I c-can't. He'll b-b-be m-m-m-mmmad."

" _Who?_ "

"P-P- _Papa_."

* * *

 **Author's Note: This little thing is supposed to be the start of a small quadra-/pentalogy inspired by Sleeping at Last and focusing on Michelle, Peter, and Michelle's home life.**

 **According to the official MCU timeline, _Homecoming_ is set in 2016, so I decided to advance things a little bit and have this arc set during the February 2017 New York Blizzard.**

 **-Nate**


End file.
